


Words You Left Unsaid

by Faetality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Mute Peter Hale, Rock Star Peter Hale, Sane Peter Hale, Sassy Peter Hale, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Singer Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: Peter Hale was the lead singer of Moonlight, a rock band that had topped the charts over a dozen times in their seven years on stage, then ‘the accident’ happened and left the star of the show in a six-year coma. When he woke he’d lost his title, his band, and the most painful thing- his voice. But life goes on.Stiles Stilinski, rising star, Argent Records’ find of the century, the boy whose voice ensnared millions. He’s full of passion and wit, hanging in the underground venues every chance to catch that feeling, that one perfect note for his next adventure. He’ll never find anything to love as much as his music- he swears it.Fate, much like the Muses, always struck at the most inexplicable times.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a project I've been super excited for since I first got the idea. I hope you guys are going to love it as much as I do and I hope I can do it justice.

_[J.J: 7:12 am] Peter, haven’t seen you in a while. Send me a message and let me know you’re not dead?  - J_ _  
_ _  
_ _[Talia: 7:29 am] Peter, you need to come see me. - Talia_  
  
 _What a way to start the day_. Hearing from his brother was a delight but his sister… that was strictly an after coffee matter. The weather was starting to get warmer, with the early sun coming through the floor to ceiling windows of his living room to warm the floors as he walked to the kitchen. It was just after eight, far too early if you asked him. He paused on his journey to crouch and run a hand over Selena- a large maine coon who practically owned his armchair- who didn’t deign to raise her head in the slightest. With coffee in hand he was semi-prepared to face whatever ‘diplomacy’ and ‘help’ his sister was ready to flay him with.  
  
  
  
__[To: Talia H.] Talia, dearest, I am afraid that I am extremely busy for the next two months but you are welcome to call me. I’ll be happy to talk.

 

He switches over to James’ message and actually smiles when he presses send.  
 _  
_ _[To: J.J.] Not dead. Living like a rockstar. There’s so much to do in New York after all… If you’re going to be coming let me know. Tell the girls that I miss them._  
  
  
  
There’s a full twelve minutes of peace and quiet where the coffee gets to do its job and he gets to enjoy the hum of the city far below his apartment. His screen flashes Talia’s name and he sighs heavily through his nose and swipes across the screen to accept the call. Talia’s face comes into full view. His sister may be twenty years his senior and often she acted more like his mother than his _actual mother._ Especially in the past few years.  
  
  
“You’re hilarious, Peter.” He arches a brow and she continues, unamused “I’m only going to say this one more time, you need to get a job- don’t you dare hit that button. Listen to me, you cannot keep isolating yourself. Either find a new job or come home and let your family see you.  Otherwise I’ll have no choice but to get involved and neither of us want that. I care about you, Peter.” She was always so earnest, demanding that he do as she asked for his own good. Unfortunately he had never been good at following orders blindly. He sets the phone against his coffee mug so that it stood alone, shaking his head. “Peter, please. It’s been two years, if nothing else… start writing again.” She looked as though it physically pained her to say the words.  Very deliberately Peter raises his hands and signs slowly-  
  
 _‘I’ll think about it. Goodbye.’_  
  
  
  
He hung up and set the phone face down on the marble counter, rubbing his face. Why is it always so early?  
  
  
  
“ _Mrrrow?_ ” Selena butted her head against his leg and, after a moment he gave a silent laugh.   
Maybe, just this once, his sister had a point. Maybe he __should get back into the world.  
  
  
  
*  
  
“Let’s try it one more time.” 

  
Outside the box he could see a few people groan and he felt a little bad for a moment. They were all exhausted, he knew that. He was too. “Last time I promise!” He loved music, he loved his work and he loved the team he’d been gifted with. The only thing he loved more than music was his dad. But it was edging well into the morning hours and he was _exhausted_. He’d been in the recording box for six hours and four more before that he was going over instrumentals and between he was dealing with playbacks and scarfing down curly fries between long drags of water. He loved his music- but he also loved his bed. _One more time_.  
  
  
  
“Can we get everyone out of the booth? I want to do this one alone.” Antoni looked like he was going to protest but Stiles threw his hands up and mouthed ‘trust me’. He had an idea and it was going to be great. Even if no one else thought so.  
  
  
  
He waits for the thumbs up and starts to play the chords on the beat up six string he’d had since he was fourteen, they were soft notes that floated and curled like wood fire smoke on a cold evening. _  
_ _  
_ _‘There’s a world outside my window_ _  
_ _  
_ _I fear only I can see_ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s one with gentle raindrops_ _  
_ _With clouds and storms and seas_ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s one with tearful eyes_ _  
_ _  
__  
__  
__That do not weep for me_ _  
_ _  
__  
__  
__I’ve seen the birds - they’re singing_ _  
_ _  
_ _Above this fiery sea_ _  
_ _  
_ _Their voices soft and sweet_ _  
_ _  
_ _They sing for you, and me._ _  
_ _  
__  
__  
__The words you left unsaid_ _  
_ _  
_ _All your suffering_ _  
_ _  
__  
__  
__I want to know it all_ _  
_ _  
_ _I need to know and be_ _  
_ _  
__  
__  
__This golden cage is mine_ _  
_ _  
_ _The view is great- it’s free_ _  
_ _  
_ _I only wish that you could see_ _  
_ _  
_ _This world was made for you_ _  
_ _  
_ _But you were made for me’_ _  
_ _  
__  
_  
He opened his eyes and grinned, nodding at the silent question from Antoni. It felt right. There was something that felt right to him and he doubted he would record it differently if someone held a gun to his head. He steps from the booth, smile tired but genuine.  
  
  
  
“Okay, now you’re going to go home and get some sleep and we’ll call you back in next week when we finish cleaning these up and run them by the big guys.” It was his first _official_ album; they had released a collection of his songs but there were only five on that release and this one had eleven and Stiles? Well, Stiles knew it was going to be big. Call him an optimist. He'd done mini shows in small venues before and his online presence was big. He had to admit though, it felt different when he knew that this was going to be the one that was going to make him or break him in the industry.   
  
  
  
“Don’t forget to sleep yourself, okay?” Antoni was as bad as he was most the time when it came to food and sleep during a project.  
  
“What is this sleep thing you speak of so often? Okay, now get out of here. Go home. Stiles-” he was quick to act before the younger man could argue “not another word the car is waiting for you downstairs.” Who was he to argue with that?  
  
  
  
He stumbled into the elevator and leaned against the backwall, riding the last bit of euphoria from a job well done until he could climb in the backseat of the waiting car and drop every pretense of staying awake. The city passed by in a blur of lights and sounds, the sky was cloudy but that didn’t mean a thing in a city where every corner was lit by artificial lights. He was used to it.  
  
  
  
“Hey, this is you right?” He jerks up so fast that he nails his head on the roof of the car.  
  
“Shit! I mean- yes, yeah this is me. Thanks for the ride man, ow- have a good night!” His building was a small, brick apartment complex with four floors and a creaky elevator. He might’ve been sorta-kinda famous- didn’t mean he was _rolling_ in dough. As they’d told him; he was an investment and that meant the money would be coming but slow. Luckily he’s comfortable where he is. He had a roof and food and friends. That’s all he needs.  
  
  
  
He drops his keys on the coffee table, shoes underneath it, and doesn’t bother to do more than unbutton his jeans before his head hits the pillow. The luxuriously soft pillow that was most definitely his favorite possession in existence for the moment. With one hand he searches for the phone charger and groans when his phone vibrates under his stomach.  
  
Vision fuzzy, he reads -  
  
 __[Lyds : 1:16 am] Don’t forget Saturday we’re all going out for Kira’s birthday. I’ll be at your place at 7. Good night, Stiles.  
  
He thinks he sends back something along the lines of “okay” but he’s half sure in the morning it will read “plat” or some other atrocity he will never hear the end of. With sleep so close he couldn’t have cared less. After all, he was halfway to being famous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my lovely beta, missleeismyname, absolute doll.

Blackwood Records was the type of name that stopped time and got things done. It was the name that you dropped when you needed an upper hand in negotiations and when you wanted past the red tape. Blackwood Records was a company that collected prestige like others did lawsuits and it was never too proud to remind you of that. 

 

Thirty six stories of chrome and mirrors on the outside, it towered over it’s neighbors and made pedestrians  _ feel  _ like specks on the sidewalk where they stood. Inside was a Jo Baer dream- a paradise of monochrome furniture and walls, silver art deco fixtures and white marble floors. Unwelcoming in the extreme, it was designed to intimidate the masses and it did so with ease.  If one couldn’t walk through the doors with their head held high they would never see a floor above it. Peter nodded at the doormen, knowing well they were security guards, and approached the front desk with a smile. He raps his knuckles on the counter top and the receptionist looks up in surprise. 

 

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” 

 

With a charming smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and one arm leaned atop the desk he held up a business card. The card wasn’t anything impressive in the grand scheme, a solid black rectangle with silver script -  _ Peter Hale  _ with his contact beneath it. 

 

“Ah, yes. If you go right down there to the elevators on the right someone will be waiting to clear you for Mr. Blackwood.” He nodded gratefully and headed through the lobby. There were few people in the lobby, those that were around mostly seemed to be interns and businessmen with a handful of students carrying books and bags and cameras following a too-peppy tour guide. The elevator didn’t play music and Peter was sure it was to unsettle those inside it. Nothing in public view was meant to comfort. A guard was waiting for him when he stepped off on the top floor, and he simply held his arms out to let himself be frisked. He more than anyone understood the need for precautions. 

 

Unlike the lower levels, the studios, offices, and general employee areas were elaborately designed for comfort and creativity. He’d spent a fair amount of his own time in the building over the years and, though beautiful, his favorite floors was never the top. His favorite room was an old studio set up that had been converted into a soundproof ‘relaxation room’ that few took advantage of with it’s odd location in the building. That wasn’t to say Deucalion’s office was anything less than spectacular. 

 

The floor was practically an apartment if one made it further than the small reception area. 

 

“You can go inside now.” 

 

Deucalion was standing off to the side when Peter came through the door and he smiled wide, holding his arms out. Deucalion was a man who intimidated with ease. He was tall and sharp featured, refined, and the charcoal gray suit did nothing to soften his image. Peter knew better than to think the man was more than human. He’d seen him half dead with a cold in an oversized sweater cursing at his tv for the settings being screwed up. Deucalion was a fierce businessman and a dear friend. Peter threw his arms tight around him and received the same in return. 

 

“It’s been too long.” 

 

He thinks on it, because surely it hadn’t been long enough to warrant comment? They had dinner just a few months ago… no. That had been in August. As if knowing what he was thinking Deuc stepped back, “It’s August 12th, Peter. It’s been a year, well, eleven months and eight days but who’s counting?” Peter shoves him lightly with a roll of his eyes. Maybe he let time get away from him, but it wasn’t as if Deucalion had been knocking down his door either. It didn’t matter when it came down to it, they were still close. Had been for over fifteen years and nothing was going to change that. Deucalion’s loss of sight hadn’t done it and neither had Peter’s loss of voice.

 

“Have a seat, how have you been?” He’s patient while Peter types, allowing his phone to read for him. 

 

‘ _ Good. What about yourself? Throw any unsuspecting singers off the balcony?’ _

 

“Not recently.” Peter snorts and Deucalion picks up on the sharp burst with a laugh. “Life has been going well. Really, but I know you didn’t come here just to catch up so let’s get it out of the way, yes? What are you here for?” 

 

_ ‘I have a proposition for you _ ’

 

“Go on.”

 

_ ‘I’m getting back into the business. Writing and composing only-’  _

 

“What? You mean you won’t be singing wild rock ballads? Perish the thought!” 

 

_ ‘Dick.’   _ A long pause.  _ ‘But no. I won’t be recording my lovely voice for the masses. You’ll have to suffer with my guitar and wit alone.’ _

 

“What a shame.” 

  
But Peter knew that smile. That was the smile that meant he was in on the idea and it was the smile he had been given the first time he suggested Deucalion let him in a recording booth while his sister was in the middle of telling every member of their family about making partner at her law firm. Deucalion may have been a wolf in a meeting room but he was as unpredictable as a hurricane in all things. The eye of a storm.  

 

“So, when do you start?” 

 

*

 

They negotiated over a fine scotch, both too experienced not to have the details done in writing even with each other. It was an hour and a half where they did nothing but business before they declared themselves entirely done with the affair. Deuc had motioned him up and laid his hand on Peter’s shoulder while they walked back to the elevator. Not because he needed to, certainly not on his own floor, but because it had been a while and it was an old habit. Let him turn off for just a moment. “I’ve made a few changes since you were last here and there are some people I think you would love to meet. Hit floor 33.

 

“Since you’ll be writing for other people I think you should at least get to know a few of the artists. There are two here now and the third I’ll get you into contact with.” He lifted his hand to cover Deuc’s on his shoulder and squeezed in acknowledgment. Their’s was an unconventional friendship but it worked. Peter draws a ‘#’ on Deucalion’s hand when they exit the elevator and he replies, “Should be room 3307.” 

 

They walked side by side through the halls, occasionally Peter would bump Deuc’s shoulder and either draw or write his words on the man’s palm if it was a short comment or a question. Otherwise he would have him pause long enough to type out what he needed and let technology do the rest. 

When Peter stepped into the room he had half a moment to think he was in the wrong place. It was a break room of sorts, beanbag chairs and criss-crossing wires were everywhere he looked. The walls were an atrocious orange with teal accents but even that wasn’t enough to draw his eyes away from the three people sprawled around the room. The first person who drew his eye was a blonde girl, perhaps seventeen, in a crop top and black shorts with hair that came straight off the page of an eighties fashion magazine. She was upside down and arguing fiercely with a brick wall of a man - the words didn’t matter as much as the vehemence she was spitting them with. 

 

The man himself was a few years older than she was. Broad in the shoulders and stoic, calmly shooting back every point she made while reading something off a tablet. 

 

“You  _ cannot  _ honestly tell me that you  _ wouldn’t sleep with him _ given the chance!” 

 

“I can. I did. I will continue to do so.” 

 

“ _ Boyd! _ ” 

 

“Honestly, just tell her that you would and maybe we can go back to talking about  _ anything _ other than Erica’s fantasies?” The third member of the room was a boy who Peter had met briefly some years prior. Back then he’d been baby faced and hardly able to look him in the eye, now he’d come into his own. Isaac had curls that would make angels cry and a temper to beat the devil. Here he was relaxed, snarking back and forth and a far cry from their first meeting. 

 

“I hear we’re working well then?” Deucalion spoke and the room fell silent for a single heartbeat. 

 

“Of course!”   
“Super productive!”  
“Not a bit.” 

 

“Of course.” Peter almost laughed at how long-suffering his friend managed to sound. “Well, let me introduce you to a friend of mine. Peter Hale.” And suddenly he was a piece of meat. The blonde- Erica - was shameless in running her eyes over him from head to toe and back again, wolf-like in her intensity. “Peter is going to be a senior writer on staff here from today on. Peter, Erica is one of our make up artists for promotional needs.”  _ Ah.  _ That meant he would be seeing her too often in the professional setting. “Isaac is one of our technician assistants, he’s a fine composer as well. Though, I’m sure you have no doubts in his capabilities.” To doubt one of Deucalion’s hand picks was to doubt the man himself. 

 

“Lastly is Boyd. Boyd works as both security on outings and as one of our stand-ins for keyboard.” There’s a chorus of ‘nice to meet you’ and variations therein and Peter inclines his head to them in turn. Naively he had thought Deuc may ease him back into the business but, much like any good thing between them, he was diving headfirst into the shark tank. “I suspect you’ll be working together often and until further notice they will be part of your team. Your other member will be here in a few weeks. They’re working on a project on the west coast at the moment.” He narrows his eyes in silent question, drawing a question mark on Deucalion’s palm. “You’ll be in touch soon enough. Don’t worry. Now, I think we have some more rounds to make and these three have work to do.” 

 

He was shown various rooms, large recording studios where his fingers itched to touch everything in sight and tiny spaces where he could imagine spending the night sleeping on questionable futons. He “met” several more people, some of whom were old acquaintances. It was a question as to whether or not that’s better or worse than the new ones with their curiosity, indifference, or the, admittedly, amusing starstruck looks they took on when they put the face with the name. But the people who knew him before didn’t ask questions, they knew enough to know the story and to know he was still as sharp as before. But there was pity in their eyes that made him want to  _ scream.  _ Deucalion didn’t force him to linger. 

 

When all was said and done they parted ways in the lobby. Peter leaving with the promise of an I.D. clearance card by Monday and of great things to come. They parted with a clasp of hands and grins that sent interns scurrying away before they could even guess at what was happening. Peter was happy with it and the idea that he could rub his sister’s nose in the fact he was doing  _ great _ was a bonus much sweeter than any cash sum. 

 

So, riding the high of a new deal he decided to do what any reasonable man in his prime would: He was going to treat himself to a  _ very  _ pleasurable evening. He may even drag it on until the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to be much more structured when it comes to the posting schedule. Look forward to a chapter about every 2 weeks give a day or so.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts so far! Thanks, y'all!
> 
>  
> 
> For those who have noticed the rating jump... let's just say good things are coming.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday morning Stiles dragged himself out of bed just after eleven. He’d spent a week running on just a few hours of sleep a night and crashed hard for the two days since wrapping up the recordings. He’d woken up naturally though and felt refreshed enough. As soon as he’d put his toaster strudels in, the first order of business was to text Kira happy birthday and then it was nothing until seven. A good plan for the day. 

 

Ever since his move to New York he’d felt like he’d been neglecting his duties as a friend. Yeah, sure, they all lived in different areas, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t make the time to see them! Lydia lived closest while Scott was furthest out; but that didn’t matter when they were all getting together to celebrate for someone’s birthday. They would all make it, have a wonderful night, and hate the universe tomorrow. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Saturday.  Back in their little town of Beacon Hills they would meet up at least once a week, in pairs or as a group, and they were never really out of touch. Now… well it was nice to know he was going to see everyone. 

 

Shortly before seven found him standing in front of his closet feeling more lost than Frodo in the marshes. He usually dressed comfortably with little care for the overall aesthetic - it wasn’t that he didn’t care about his appearance, he did, but when he was Stiles he wanted to be just that and nothing more. No performing for anyone. No carefully chosen clothes, words, no knowledge that he  _ wasn’t allowed  _ to express a facet of himself in some way because he was expected to be better as an Argent Star. That said; Lydia would kill him if there was plaid in sight on a night like this. 

 

He decides to go simple: black jeans, red tank top with wide straps underneath a plain black short sleeve overshirt and converse. Perfect clubbing attire and perfectly him. He runs a little bit of low-strength product through his hair so he can say he tried, and he’s feeling good when he runs down to the lobby and hails a cab for the evening. 

 

-

  
_ Reincarnation  _ was a nightclub tucked between old city brick buildings that housed “reputable” businesses like a Law Firm on one side and a Financial Advisor on the other. It was a large underground venue with two levels - the upper level that contained  the dance floor made up the center of the room and the lower level which housed the booths and bar was the main floor. The entire place had a laid back feel to it compared to their other haunts:, the lights didn’t flash quite as violently, the music dampened on the lower level, and the aesthetic was dark blues and silvers with flashes of deep reds.  

 

Stiles loved it. 

 

The first thing that happened on entry was Kira launching herself at him, arms around his neck while he stumbled with the force of impact. “Stiles!” 

 

“Kira! Happy Birthday!” Kira was a Taekwondo instructor and an elementary school teaching assistant. An absolute ray of sunshine. Kind of like if you took a lab puppy and gave it human form and then imbued it with all the energy in the universe. Yeah. Like that. He squeezes her once more before returning her feet to the ground. 

 

“Come on! We’re just waiting on Jackson.” She held his hand in hers and led him like a kindergartener over to their table. There were already drinks all around and a spot for him open. 

 

“Well don’t you look nice.” Lydia greeted, giving him a quick hug before Scott enveloped him and lifted him up. 

 

“I’ve missed you dude!” 

 

“Same! But I kinda- I kinda gotta breathe Scotty.” He tapped Scott’s shoulder twice before his feet were one with the ground again. 

 

“Oh, sorry.” 

 

They immediately got him a drink, something bright blue, fruity and sparkly and with more kick than he expected. Jackson showed up with Danny in tow, both taking their seats with drinks already in hand. From there it was all catching up and teasing Kira, and-   
“oh! Gifts!”-  Stiles’ was a simple thing, a silver and dragon’s-blood stone bracelet alongside a giftcard to a boutique Kira had mentioned liking on more than one occasion. The hug he got in return was anything but small. He had always over thought those things, what to give people for their birthdays and Christmas and how to show them he cared when money had never been a great advantage. He thinks he’s pretty good at it, though.

  
Lydia had given her gift beforehand when she picked Kira up, as had Scott and Jackson’s was on its way. Danny handed over a birthday card and no one really knew what was in it. 

 

They talked for an hour, splitting appetizers and drinking before Kira slammed her hands down on the table- “This is my jam!” It was easy to get to the dance floor which was a straight shot up the low steps from their booth. They were a little tipsy and tired of sitting so the struggle was next to none. Stiles wasn’t a big dancer, he could move and he could keep up with a rhythm don’t get him wrong - but he wasn’t as confident in it as he might’ve been on a stage with a mic. He rocked karaoke. He let Kira pull him through until they were just past the first ring of people, far enough from the edge to be comfortable but nowhere near as crowded as the center. They wanted to move, not just grind on other people.   
  


The song was one with a good beat and quickly he was able to lose himself in it, bopping along beside his friends like he was sixteen again. Once on the floor they stayed there. The energy was infectious. 

 

A few songs in there’s a chest at his back and hands brush questioningly against his hips. A quick glance around shows him that Scott and Kira were dancing together and Lydia had slipped away for water. Stiles pushes back against the person behind him, moving with the stranger. The song passes and Stiles is swept into the crowd again. It’s all fine by him, there’s plenty of strangers in the club and he has no intention of committing to any of them. The night was still young and he wasn’t going to leave the party so soon, it had been too long since he’d been out without it being some kind of publicity event. He wanted to live a little.

 

Jackson was the first to leave, followed by Danny. Stiles found himself at the bar just after ten, grinning with his hair in disarray as he asked for a bottle of water.  A Hurricane is placed in front of him instead. 

 

“From the man down the bar.” The bartender gestures down the bar.

 

He turns his head, searching for the man in question. Yeah, sometimes people bought him drinks, but usually not anyone he was interested in. It was better to head off anything like that before it happened, let them know he wasn’t interested before they could claim he owed someone anything. When his eyes finally land on the man he stops short. His first thought is  _ Holy shit.  _ And his second is  _ Oh dear god yes, please.  _ He was older, not  _ old _ but definitely had about ten years on Stiles. His hair was either a dark blond or a midtone brown- the lights made it hard to tell the exact color. Sharp features, broad shoulders, well groomed, clothing that highlighted  _ everything  _ he had going on.  _ Oh yeah.  _ He smiles at the man, bringing a hand up in a tiny wave and smiling wider when the wave is returned. 

 

He takes his drink and carries it over so he can sit beside the stranger. “Hello.”  The stranger inclines his head, he’s more handsome up close. Stubbled jaw, blue-blue eyes, thick neck. There’s a napkin pushed to his elbow and he realizes that he’s been staring in silence. The man doesn’t seem offended, just amused if the curve of his lips is anything to go by. Stiles looks down. 

 

_ My name is Peter, I’m mute but I was hoping we _ __   
_ could have a bit of fun.  _ __   
_   
_ __ What’s your name, beautiful? 

 

Mute. Okay, yeah. Stiles could work with that. “Well, Peter. I think I like the sound of that.” The man grins and Stiles has to wonder how often he’d been rejected for his lack of voice. “My name is Stiles.” A raised brow. “It’s a nickname. My real name is entirely unpronounceable.” Peter places a small book on the bar, opening it to a blank page and scrawling in his neat, elegant script. 

 

_ What do you do, Stiles? _

 

_ “ _ I’m sort of a musician. Mostly I’m a disaster.” There’s a laugh, a deep gravel-rough thing that definitely does not make Stiles want to climb him like a tree. “What about you?” 

 

_ I’m a writer.  _

 

That… well, Stiles couldn’t say it surprised him in the least. What else was the man going to do- wait. That sounded bad. God damn it; he was terrible. He’s drawn out of his self-reprimanding when Peter touches the base of his own drink while he nodding at Stiles’. 

 

“Oh! My dad is a sheriff and he’s kinda instilled in me not to take a drink I didn’t watch get made. I’m sorry, I do like Hurricanes.” Peter places a broad hand on his arm with a smile to say it was okay. He writes,

 

_ Smart.  _

 

Peter’s hand remained on his skin, warm and grounding. The older man nods at the dance floor with a question in his eyes. 

 

“Sure, I’m not very good at it.” 

 

_ I disagree. I saw you earlier. _

 

“Well, who am I to argue?” He turns his palm upward, letting Peter slide his fingers between Stiles’ and then they’re up and moving toward the floor. Peter is  _ warm.  _ It’s nice. Stiles sees Kira looking at him from the booth and he waves. Peter tugs his hand lightly and nods to the table where Lydia was staring them down. “Yeah, they’re friends of mine. Don’t worry, she’s not likely to murder you.” The second they hit the floor Peter was pulling him around to face him, blue eyes bright under the pulsing lights. Stiles drops his hand and let’s him prowl closer until they’re within the crowd rather than beyond it. People seemed to give them space, different to when Stiles was last on the floor. Maybe it was his imagination- maybe it was that Peter gave off a vibe that was hard to ignore. Peter squeezes his hip.

  
It’s easy to let himself go, then. Letting the music dictate the mood and movement, and Peter’s movements are sinful. His hips swayed, hands finding purchase on Stiles’ waist as he crowded close and let his breath brush lightly against his neck. The occasional brush of their chests together feels more intense than if Stiles had thrown decency out the window and just grinded against him for the whole song. Instead, Peter turns him so that he’s leaned back against his chest and - after a while - there is the scratch of stubble against his neck and lips following the burn of it.  _ Yes, please.  _ There’s vibrations against his back, Peter was laughing silently again; he’d said it out loud. Well, at least Peter knew he was all over this. A hand slides over his stomach, above his shirt. Possessive. 

 

His head falls back onto Peter’s shoulder and he grins. “How about we take this party on the road?” A squeeze of his hip and a light kiss to his neck serves as his answer. It should have felt too intimate but honestly- who cared?

 

They slip off to the lower level and make it two steps toward the door when Stiles’ freezes. “Wait! I gotta tell my friends I’m leaving. I’ll be right back, I promise! Don’t go anywhere!” He jogs to their table, twisting around other clubgoers until he’s panting in front of Lydia, Scott, and Kira. “I’m going home with a super hot guy, I don’t think he’s a serial killer. His name is Peter. If I don’t text you in the morning by eleven I was killed by him and it was probably most definitely worth it because holy hell he’s hotter than sin. Okay?” He speaks in a rush, every word said in the same breath. 

 

“Okay, but, Stiles? Eleven o’clock on the dot or I’m going to the cops. Have fun.” 

 

“Get it dude.” 

  
“Have fun, Stiles!” 

 

“Happy Birthday Kira, I’ll see you guys later!” He grins and races back to the entrance. 

 

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was later than expected because of life- but I'm ahead of schedule with the next chapters so expect those (hopefully) on time. (P.S. don't take language classes on top of a full course load. Take them with easier courses because the amount of homework is insane.)


	4. Chapter 4

_ Reincarnation  _ wasn’t a place he frequented often but he thought that may have to change. It had undergone new management sometime in the past few years since he’d last spent an evening there and the drinks were fantastic, the energy was amazing, and the people certainly weren’t hard to get along with. The boy with the wild hair and pretty brown eyes certainly wasn’t. He had pouty lips and a long limbs- like a renaissance painting.

Peter didn’t do hookups too often since… well since the Accident as it was. It wasn’t as though he didn’t get the offers, he did and he did so in spades when he felt like going out, but once they learned he couldn’t speak… most didn’t hold interest for long. Those that did work out were nice but he had a list he preferred to message when he needed to blow off some steam. It worked well enough until someone decided to get too attached. 

But the boy. Damn. Beautiful, slender, moved like sin. He was something  _ new. _ That wasn’t an opportunity Peter was going to let slip by. If he struck out he’d move to the blond sitting alone at the far end but… he didn’t think he would strike out with this one. He was  _ so _ glad to have been right. With Stiles pressed against his chest on the crowded dance floor he’s struck with the idea to take the boy right there. Push him against the railing and see how many pretty noises he could get out of him above the music. He refrains, but just barely. 

By the time they were in the cab, Peter passing up a card with his address before taking said card back, he had the boy half in his lap. Stiles, and wasn’t that unique, was smart and clearly picked up on a lot of the cues Peter had to explain to others. It made it so much easier when all he had to do was put two fingers on his chin and the boy complied with baring his neck. Peter liked to leave marks but not until he was allowed, so he pressed light kisses there before pulling away. Stiles cocked his head to the side, confused, and then, when Peter touched the same spot he’d just left- “oh. Fuck, yes. Not too high but like- pulse point down? Please.”  _ Reasonable. Smart. I can do that.  _

Peter was certain that by the time they got to his apartment their cab driver wanted them both dead but really, was he supposed to care? He had a beautiful boy in his lap and big plans for his evening. With a last kiss to Stiles’ neck he pushed the boy toward the door and paid the man up front with a tip and wink. The boy, because with eyes like that and how beautifully he surrendered to Peter’s touches he couldn’t think of a better thing to call him, except perhaps baby or sweetheart but that was something far too endearing for what this was- let himself be led with a hand on his lower back. Eyes blown wide and leaning like he couldn’t wait to fall right back into Peter’s arms. He grins wide, takes a stab and places his thumbnail on his upper lip and drags it down to his chin. It’s a shot in the dark if Stiles’ will understand or not but it costs him nothing if it misses.

The boy huffs. “So my ASL is abysmal but I’m pretty sure if I wait much longer I’m gonna tear that shirt off you.” A raised brow. “I’m right, right? This,” he copies the sign, “is you telling me to have patience?” Peter nods and cages him against the elevator wall. Oh, he likes him. “I- I uh- I had a friend in high school who- yeah okay you get it.” Peter manages to bring a dark mark to the surface just below Stiles’ collarbone before the elevator jars them to a stop and Stiles has to drag his hands out of Peter’s hair. He instantly wants them back, to feel them tugging and directing and to hear more of those little noises from the back of partner’s throat. He wants to  _ devour  _ him. Instead he leads them down the hall and when Peter opens the door for Stiles to step through to the apartment he’s determined to get Stiles laid out on silk sheets and take the time to take him apart. To see if the pretty constellations go all the way down. 

If the boy would stop staring out the window. 

 

*

 

“Holy shit- you must be fucking loaded.” An amused huff sounded behind him. “Oh- oh I didn’t mean. Sorry. Just not used to-” there are lips over his to shut him up and he finds himself fisting hands into the too-soft shirt stretched over Peter’s chest. “Yeah, all of this. Show me the bedroom?” Hands slide under his thighs and he gets with the program real fast, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist and enjoying the strength in those arms. Peter kicks the door closed behind them, letting the light from the window guide him to the bed where he flipped on the lamp. Stiles spends a second wondering at how soft the bed beneath him was. Tonight would be worth it just to sleep in the bed.

He doesn’t have much time to wonder before Peter is straddling his thighs, hands pushing the overshirt off and then tugging the tank top up and over his head. Peter shamelessly ran his eyes, then his hands, down the planes of his chest and settled them on his hips, thumb dipping into the v of his hips that started just above his jeans. A single fingers traces a line down his chest while pretty blue eyes look up at him. The intention is clear - he was happy with what he was seeing and he was going to be taking his time. 

“This isn’t fair.” He reaches out, tugging at Peter’s own shirt. “You’re way overdressed.” Peter shuffles back and manages to make the movement look graceful, letting Stiles sit up to run his own hands over the newly bared skin.  _ Damn.  _ Stiles was in good shape- he wasn’t  _ ripped  _ but years of lacrosse had made sure he was toned. Peter- well the only fair comparison he could think of was a greek statue. A tanned, warm, living, breathing statue that he was allowed to touch. Shamelessly. Rising to his knees he draws the man into another kiss. He’s torn between wanting to rush through this and slowing down and enjoying every second. He’d only get this once after all. Fingers edge into the back of his jeans, pulling him more firmly against that broad chest.

“Everything off. All of it.” Peter was clearly amused at his insistence, Stiles could see it in the curve of his lips but when he leaned in to mark Peter’s neck and move down his chest the amusement turned into a moan. He works the button of Peter’s jeans open and waits until he grinds into his palm for friction. Peter wasn’t the only one who could tease. From there they were both naked in a flash, clothes tossed across the room to find later. Hands gripping at thighs and then Stiles is being pressed down into the bed again. Warm breath ghosting over his chest, teeth nipping lightly at his hip, teasing him with the edge of a promise before hands push his thighs apart and Peter is settling between them. Stiles wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t apprehensive about getting to the main course- Peter wasn’t small. His own sexual escapades aside, Stiles had watched enough porn in his life to know that Peter was gifted in both body and skill. He knew enough to know he was going to compare every other encounter in his life to this before Peter even touched his cock.

Peter grabs lube from the bedside, shamelessly sitting on top of it rather than in a drawer. Slick fingers opened him thoroughly, edging on being teasing. The first has him arching his hips, the second biting his lip not to simply yell for the man to  _ hurry.  _ By three he’s panting,  _ please _ and  _ more _ dropping from his lips with every press and curl of his bedmate’s fingers. Above him Peter was looking down at him like he was beautiful and when the man retreated Stiles fought back a whine at the emptiness. He wanted contact. He wanted more. A kiss to the soft skin behind his knee and a small noise soothes the restlessness within him and then he’s not empty anymore. Peter is careful with him at first, small rocks of his hips giving Stiles’ time to adjust, let’s him dig his nails into his back and bare his throat. 

This. This was bliss. 

 

*

 

Stiles was  _ beautiful.  _ It was a shame Peter couldn’t keep him. 

He was long lines of muscle and star dotted skin. Fingers that tugged his hair just right when he was marking him up. Oh yes, he was pretty. Pretty and  _ vocal.  _ Every gasp was punctuated with a plea. Every plea accompanied by a whine. Peter revelled in it. By the time he was  _ in him  _ his control was slipping. To go slow was a curse and a dream. He drops his face against the man’s shoulder and moans, breathing heavy as he waits for the go-ahead.

“Move, Peter.  _ Move _ .” 

Who is he to deny anyone pleasure?

He adjusts his grip on Stiles’ leg, fingers of the opposite hand curled into the sheets beneath them and complies. Nails drag lines of fire down his skin. Whiskey eyes fall closed beneath him and his name is a breathy sound in the air between them. He could get used to that. He sets a steady pace, pausing only once to run a finger down Stiles’ cheek until his eyes opened once more and Peter grins. Stiles digs a heel into the small of his back in a silent demand to move again. Before long they’re both panting, curses and moans from Stiles and long moans and breathless pants from Peter. There’s sweat beading on his brow. 

“I’m close. Peter-”

He wraps his hand around the younger man’s cock, stroking firmly while he chases his own release. He refuses to come before his bedmate. Stiles leaned up and Peter catches his lips in a kiss at the same time he twists his hand on the upstroke. Stiles comes with a cry, fingers digging into the muscle of of Peter’s back, toes curling. Peter follows him over the edge with a near silent cry.  

Coming down is a slow affair. He gets rid of the condom, fighting the loose hold Stiles has on him. The young man is still half out of it, limbs akimbo and lips parted. Peter cleans their mess and drops back beside him, running fingers through his hair until he groans and rolls onto his side. “P’tr” really, He was flattered but they couldn’t lay on the covers much longer as their skin was starting to cool. He coaxes Stiles into moving and stretches under the sheets. He enjoyed sex but the afterglow was just as nice. Hardly a minute passed before it became clear that Stiles was a cuddler. Arm over his chest, face against the inset of his shoulder. Peter wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It wasn’t bad but few of his partners were ever the type. 

“Is this okay? I can leave…” Peter runs his hand over the young man’s shoulder and squeezes. A simple gesture that was sure to not be misunderstood. He falls asleep with a comforting weight on his chest for the first time in too long. 

_ Maybe we can do round 2 in the morning.  _


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles woke up comfortable and warm, a strong arm around him and a pleasant ache in his legs. He stretches, feels his muscles pull and relax before settling back against silky sheets. The body under him moves and a sigh ruffles his hair. He opens his eyes to see an expanse of bronze skin and follows the line of marks that trailed up to the thick neck and -  _ oh. Yeah. that happened.  _ He’d had a few one night stands where he regretted it in the morning but looking at Peter in the dim light he didn’t regret a thing. The man was  _ damn  _ fine. Stiles shifts, lays a hand on Peter’s chest to trace random patterns over the muscles until blue eyes flutter open.

“Good morning.”

Fingers run through his hair and Peter smiles wide. A question mark is drawn on the bare skin of his back.

“I slept great… do you have anywhere to be this morning?” The smile turned sly, a small head shake. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to a round two.” A rumbling chuckle shakes Peter’s chest and Stiles finds himself over on his back.

 “I’ll take that as a yes?” 

*

“God, are you just like- perfect at everything? Built like Adonis. Sex god.  _ Brilliant  _ cook. Don’t laugh, I'm serious, I burn cereal.” 

Head tilted, eyes narrowed, lips parted in disbelief - it’s not a look Peter wears often.  He signs,  _ How? _

“Well um. You see I thought it would be okay to put the box in the microwave because warm cereal couldn’t be that different than oatmeal right? Then, well. You can guess how well that went.” This boy was a  _ mess.  _ Peter turns and plates more sausage onto his breakfast plate and then joins Stiles at the table. He didn’t want to say that morning-after breakfast was his strong suit but the truth was the truth. He sets his phone at his elbow so he can type if needed and considers Stiles in the daylight. 

He was pretty- that didn’t change a bit. Hair just an inch or so longer than Peter’s own, honeyed eyes, fair features and an upturned nose straight out of a Disney film. He was tall, of a height with Peter himself but it didn’t feel that way when he was underneath him, when Stiles was digging fingers into his back in a delightfully painful way and gasping breathy pleas into his ear. He drinks his coffee.

“So, you said you’re a writer?”

He nods, watching the way Stiles seems to light up, questions coming to his lips. Peter has to brandish his fork at him to remind him to chew before he started to speak. 

“Have you been writing a long time?”

Peter holds up ten fingers, closes them and flashes seven more. 

“Seventeen years? Wow. That’s. Oh wow. What do you write? Books? Music? Movies?”

He holds up one finger and then two. 

“Could I read some of it? Are you published?” He looks so earnest, hopeful even, Peter imagines saying no is what kicking a particularly happy puppy would feel like. He shrugs. 

“Oh. Okay, I get it. I mean, sharing your life’s work with a one night stand isn’t exactly something that’s normal. Sorry. Um,” he could see the way nerves took over, the fluttering hands and way he pushed the last bites of food around on his plate rather than finishing them. Peter taps the table twice, raising a brow.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong- just I should- probably go. I mean, it was great. This is all super great but I don’t want to bother you any and-“ 

A single hand raised in a simple gesture.  _ Stop.  _

Silence fills the apartment while Peter types, slides the phone across for Stiles to read. 

 

_ You are more than welcome to read some of what I’ve written and you _ _   
_ _ haven’t bothered me at all.  _

 

The smile he receives is warm. “If you say so.”

When Peter stands and clears the plates Sties fidgets. He wants to drag him back into his bed and then send him on his way. Damn the awkwardness. 

He’s about to do just that when the cheery tone of a phone call cuts through the apartment. Stiles is quick to hop up, hurrying through the apartment calling ‘sorry’. Peter takes the moment to refill Selena’s food and water, though the cat hadn’t made her appearance since they returned the previous night. 

“So… I just got a call and while I really would like to stay - it would be amazing and I’ve really enjoyed the night - but I’ve got an emergency work thing.” The boy is shifting and fidgeting so much that it’s clear this isn’t an awkward attempt at escape. Just an awkward goodbye. 

He moves close with a smile and a wave of his hand.  _ Can I walk you out?  _

He walks the boy to the lobby before Stiles stops and gives him a blinding smile. “Thanks for last night. I’ll see you around?” Peter nods. “I’ll just grab a cab.” He makes an aborted motion and Peter rolls his eyes and leans down to give him a short peck on the lips and an equally gentle push toward the door. “See you, Peter!”

After the boy is gone Peter runs a hand through his hair and laughs on the ride back to his apartment. God, he’d needed that. Maybe he really would be seeing Stiles around. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing- especially if he was amenable to a repeat performance. Yes. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Meanwhile, he had a  _ brilliant  _ first day of work ahead of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate your readership and I’m always available to talk. Thank you guys!
> 
> (Tentative update schedule - once a month)


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